


Wedding Planning

by Merwin_Me



Series: The Argent-Stilinski Household [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Dating, Fluff, Gen, Humor, M/M, Pixies, Stilinski Family Feels, Violence, Wedding Planning, Weddings, because I just couldn't resist writing that, mention of possible crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-17 13:05:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11852184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merwin_Me/pseuds/Merwin_Me
Summary: Apparently, planning a wedding does take some time and consists of the gathering of random but apparently necessary crap. Chris just wished the pixies would stop infesting their flower arrangements.





	Wedding Planning

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Предсвадебные хлопоты (Wedding Planning)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13360638) by [Sulamen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sulamen/pseuds/Sulamen)



> Warning: there will be butchering of the law in here somewhere. Sorry, but I didn't bother looking up the laws and see whether what I wrote was utter bullshit, or somewhat magically correct (probably bullshit). I did have time to research Dyson slogans.  
> ...  
> 'The only vacuum with balls'  
> 'This thing sucks'  
> 'The strongest suction at the cleaner end'  
> ...  
> My story needs an E rating now.

 

There had been a bit of a silent treatment from Allison for all of a hot second when Chris and Noah had—tentatively as if they expected backlash—announced they were engaged and planning on marrying the next spring. Apparently, Allison had bet on them going for a summer wedding. Double apparently, their kids had known they would end up married by the fourth month mark.

 

Of course, the moment the silent treatment ended, Chris found out just how terrifying his daughter was when she had a wedding on her mind. Stiles proved to be just as terrifying, flipping through magazines and websites as if it was his life on the line, scribbling away in what he had dubbed the wedding notebook.

 

It was pink. And had a glittery unicorn on it.

 

Noah stopped wondering what Stiles was writing down when Peter leaned over his son’s shoulder and told him not to forget the tablecloths, and started worrying about his bank account. And his sanity by the time he got his eyes on the list that was long enough to make him want to cry.

 

Or that might have been because of the gleeful looks in Allison’s and Stiles’ eyes, while Peter was getting an endless amount of amusement out of filling the newly engaged couple’s calenders with outings to gather the items on the list.

 

Was it too late to elope?

 

——

 

“Okay, if we are looking at venues, we could go the good old church route. Stick up a giant middle finger to priest Hall by holding your legal-in-California wedding there. Or pick the new, modern one off of Main street that’s owned by that weird, hipster couple.”

 

Ignoring Stiles’ not all that helpful side commentary, Chris and Noah looked at the pictures of the churches Allison was showing them of the locations, both grimacing a little at the modern church that looked like someone had ironed out rainbow puke all over the floor and ceiling.

 

“How about the park down main?” Noah offered even as Peter ripped up the photograph of the modern church before Stiles could finish drawing what looked like a stick figure of Satan on it.

 

“Sure,” Stiles shrugged even as Peter shook his head, “humans can marry in the park, but the Nymphs hate Hunters so unless you want papa Argent to be eviscerated before the honeymoon, I’d stay far away from there.”

 

Chris blinked slowly at his soon to be step-son, but it was Allison that explained, seeing as Stiles was ignoring him in favor of planning a visit to the church with the homophobic priest.

 

“Stiles decided that you would be papa, I decided on dad Stilinski.”

 

“And,” Peter smoothly injected, “I will of course be daddy Peter.”

 

It was no surprise that a second later Peter was twitching on the ground clutching his abused groin, having caught Stiles’ steel-toed boot straight to the balls.

 

——

 

“So is this how it usually goes?” Noah turned to ask Allison even as he made sure to keep an eye on where his fiance was helping his son shoot many bullets in the tentacle monster that had at one point been homophobic priest Hall.

 

“Well yes,” Allison stuffed a piece of cloth in the bottle of alcohol she had for some reason had stashed in her purse, “though Stiles and I are usually catching them before the monsters get near you.”

 

Holding her makeshift Molotov cocktail up to a nearby candle, the dry cloth caught fire even as Stiles pulled on Chris’ arm, moving them out of Allison’s line of sight. Chris had a bit of a harder time adjusting to the fact that Stiles and Allison had this whole fighting against sudden monster appearances during outings down to an art, but he was at least smart enough to move when Stiles pulled at him.

 

The tentacle monster let out an ungodly screech as the Molotov cocktail hit him in the chest and exploded in a small fireball, flames latching on the highly flammable gooey slime that covered its entire body until the ugly creature was a writhing pyre. With one last screeching wail, the monster’s body collapsed in on itself, flames dying with it.

 

When the last of the flames were put out by Noah’s hand extinguisher, it was revealed that the monster had reverted back to the form of pries Hall after it had died, leaving behind a crime scene that had Noah twitching.

 

“I guess that’s a no on the church?” Peter deadpanned even as they were erasing every sign that they had ever even been near this church, before they all sneaked out the back entrance.

 

“Obviously.” Chris sighed even as he rubbed some slime off of his face before offering the Kleenex box to Noah. “What do you think about holding the ceremony in the backyard, Noah? It is big enough, and if we hold it near the evening, we’ll catch a lovely dusk for that photographer Stiles is bullying.”

 

“Hiring,” Stiles grumbled, even though he was definitely bullying said professional photographer into not ripping them off with his usually outrageous prices, “and he’s already agreed to do the job.”

 

Noah just waved off his son, having never doubted that his son would be able to hire the photographer he’d had his eyes on the moment he saw the guy’s portfolio.

 

“I would like a backyard ceremony, it seems a lot more personal.” And if it would keep them away from the modern church of horrible interior, all the better.

 

“We’re going to need to hire a landscaper.” Allison said to Stiles, who made a notation in his ever-present sparkly pink notebook.

 

——

 

The window in the living room that looked out over the backyard shattered as a body was thrown through it, glass crunching beneath Stiles’ muddy boots as he jumped through the new hole. The body—which was identified by an only mildly surprised Chris as a Ghoul—was groaning and trying to scramble up, its eyes glowing a sickly yellow color as it tried to grab at Stiles’ leg with twisted claws.

 

Neatly sidestepping the grabbing movement and barely missing hitting the expensive vase on the side table, Stiles brought his bat down on the Ghoul’s head with a grunt. Again and again and again, smashing down until the only thing that was left of its head was whatever was stuck to Stiles’ bat and slowly spreading across the hardwood floor.

 

Chris and Noah took a moment to just stare at the panting and grinning Stiles, before looking to the right as a slightly beaten up Allison came in through the back door, followed by Peter whose wounds were already healing.

 

“We’re going to need a new landscaper.”

 

——

 

“No papa, of course we’re not inviting Amanda. Don’t you remember that time she sent prostitutes to cousin Marcus’ home on the night of his honeymoon just because he is gay?”

 

“Oh right,” Chris muttered even as he crossed out Amanda’s name, scratching off the name of her husband a moment later, “I forgot about that.”

 

“You forgot about the actual knife-throwing his husband Lucien did?” Allison asked with disbelief coloring her voice, only to groan when her papa shrugged sheepishly. Of course Chris had forgotten, he had tried to actively forget everything to do with his family ever since the business with Gerard and Victoria.

 

But trying to forget said past didn’t mean that they could just ignore their entire family or conveniently ‘forget’ to send out invitations. At least a couple of people would have to be invited. A couple of others would have to be told that they would not, under any circumstances, be allowed to come.

 

A list Amanda Argent was at the top of.

 

While Allison and Chris were busy figuring out which of their family members they could stand long enough to invite, Stiles and Noah were trying to figure out which members of their family were currently not in prison or criminal enough to be tracked by some federal agency wherever they went.

 

That turned out to be a surprisingly short list.

 

“How about Ivan?” Noah finally mused, remembering that Claudia’s uncle was supposed to be out of whatever Russian prison he’d been put in by now. That man had cried and fallen in love the moment he had held baby Stiles for the first time. Stiles shook his head with a frown.

 

“I’d love to see gramps again, but the last I heard they’re trying to pin the most recent Kremlin massacre on him, so he’s on the run. Though, I’m still going to send him an invitation, if only to be able to kick out whatever KGB agent they attempt to send.”

 

Neither of the Stilinski’s noticed that the other three people in the room had stopped what they were doing and were openly staring at them as they verbally went down a list of criminal family members.

 

“How about Ilya?” Stiles piped up even as he put a cross next to another few people who he knew were in prison or who he judged to be too criminal to invite. “He’s supposed to be out of prison, isn’t he?”

 

Noah leaned over to check something in the notebook his son used to keep track of their extensive family, and paged through it for a couple of minutes.

 

“He’s out again. Sure, send him an invitation, I haven’t seen him since his incarceration.”

 

“What was he in for?” Chris’ face was twisted in a mix of confusion and wariness, relaxing a bit when Noah sent him a reassuring smile.

 

“He beat a guy to death for drugging and raping a underage girl. The courts were somewhat less sympathetic than they would have been, had the guy not been some big name politician.”

 

“You…certainly have an interesting family.” Peter decided after he and the Argents took a moment to process _that_ bomb of information.

 

“Eh, don’t worry. Ilya may probably have connections to the Russian mob, but he’s really just one big teddy bear. He gives the best hugs.”

 

Somehow, that was not as reassuring as Stiles was probably hoping it would be.

 

Chris was apparently going to have at least one person associated with organized crime at his wedding. Hopefully, between those people and the other Argent family members, it wouldn’t end up in a bloodbath.

 

——

 

There were a couple of florists in Beacon Hills that had been put on Stiles’ list for visiting. The first surprise obviously being that Beacon Hills had more florists than coffee shops.

 

Of those florists two offered an extensive wedding package, each coming with happy reviews and ready to order and deliver the humongous amount of flowers Stiles listed whenever they needed.

 

Standing in the first shop, both men were distinctly out of their element even with a gleeful Allison standing by their side, ready to cut down any of the store owner’s suggestions. Or she would have, had the owner actually shown up. Which she hadn’t, leaving a couple of flustered employees to try to put together nice looking wedding bouquets for them to look at even though it was painfully obvious none of them had any expertise in the field.

 

Mount Allison was ready to blow.

 

“No no no, what did I just tell you, you moron?! We don’t want any pink colors, or to be drowning in white! Look at them!” Allison almost hit Chris in the nose when she violently waved at the two of them. “Do they look like blushing brides or _fucking_ _virgins_ to you? We want fucking purples, greens, maybe a bit orange, maybe a tiny bit white, but no virgin first timer bouquet!”

 

In the backroom, Stiles grinned at Peter even as he finished scrubbing the last of the blood out of the floor, letting the Alpha deal with the body of the dark Fae store owner.

 

——

 

The next florist had a pixie infestation that ended up in the entire building and half of the neighboring bakery to need to be burned to the ground. Even then, Chris still somehow found pixies in his underwear for the next weeks.

 

They would need to start looking for florists all the way in San Francisco.

 

Fucking pixies.

 

——

 

Hiring a catering service went pretty smoothly, all things considered. Sure, the first one they went to turned out to be owned by Werewolves, terrified that the Argent was coming to kill them, but after they had explained their presence, Stiles had managed to hire them.

 

So there had been a minor fight, a small temper tantrum thrown by a random Beta, some snarling and showing off from the Alpha owner and Peter both, but they were civilized. They could talk.

 

Eventually, through a megaphone.

 

Nevertheless, when both Argents hadn’t pulled out the Wolfsbane the moment the Weres flashed their eyes, tempers started calming down. Though the whole meeting ended up more awkward than it would otherwise have been, Stiles and Allison went through with taste testing the samples the Were chefs had created for them, before judging them more than adequate for being served at the wedding.

 

With a warning to the Weres that there would be humans not in the know at the wedding, as well as some Argent’s who would be told there’d be no harassing the staff, a deal was struck and Chris and Noah had a catering service.

 

If only it went that well with finding a _bloody florist_.

 

——

 

“Does this happen often as well?” Chris muttered from the corner of his mouth, keeping wary eyes on the guard posted outside of their shared cell.

 

Stiles shrugged—or tried to before wincing and pausing mid-shrug when it pulled painfully.

 

“Ally and I haven’t been kidnapped yet, no. We’ve only had to fight beasties, desecrate a few graves and burn a couple of bodies. Kidnapping is new.”

 

Having said that at a normal tone of voice, Stiles got a disturbed look thrown his way from the guard.

 

“You think dad’s doing okay?” Now Stiles had dropped his voice as well, sounding more vulnerable than before. Chris didn’t hesitate to pull the boy in a hug, locking his arms around him tightly.

 

And instead of pulling back or trying to find an excuse that he was alright, that he didn’t need or want comforting, Stiles just buried himself in Chris’ embrace.

 

“By now they’ll have realized we’re no longer at the florist’s,” why was it always the goddamn _florist_ , “and Noah will have already accessed the CCTV outside the building. I just hope they send Peter in here first, or that they’ll have bulletproof vests on at least.”

 

Though it was all a bit redundant to say, because there was no doubt that Stiles had long since figured that out, Chris realized that the teen needed a bit of extra reassurance. Especially when it came from someone who was trained to withstand scenarios like these, trained to get out of them, and trained how to get other people out of these situations.

 

So far, Chris didn’t yet have a solid plan to escape the building. It would have been easier had they been on the first or even second floor of the house they seemed to be in, but as they were in the basement, he couldn’t make an accurate enough assumption as to how many people were in the house with them.

 

They had been on a day trip to LA, to knock a couple of items off of their list together. Peter, Allison and Noah had gone for table arrangements, from plates to glasses to cloth to name cards. Stiles and Chris had gone on the mission to go to several florists and hopefully manage to find one that wasn’t run by a Supernatural creature that wanted to kill them or infested by pixies.

 

Of course, that just meant they found the one run by Hunters unimpressed by the Argent who consorted with wolves.

 

It had taken Stiles taking a tazer to his arm and not healing for the Hunters to realize he was just a human, for them to stop attacking Stiles as if he was a Werewolf.

 

Not that that meant they were let go. No, straight to a cell in a basement it was. Terrific.

 

“You know what, fuck florists. I’m going to grow all the damn flowers we need myself. I’m sure Deaton has a recipe for magic fertilizer or some shit _somewhere.”_

 

Chris was just about to agree when the roar of an Alpha echoed through the house and the screaming and shooting started.

 

That was his cue to take out the guard that had just tried to slip inside to probably use them as hostages.

 

Amateurs. Didn’t they know that in order to take an adult Argent down, they needed at _least_ three fully trained Hunters? And that wasn’t even counting how many were needed to hold the slippery little shit that was Stiles.

 

“You’ll figure something out, you’re getting better fast at using your Spark.”

 

Stiles shot him a grin even as he rescued his whip from one of the unconscious Hunters.

 

“Thanks papa! I’ll try to make sure none of them are carnivorous, wouldn’t want them to eat the guests.”

 

If Chris glowed a little from hearing Stiles call him papa, that was no one’s business but his.

 

“Aww, I can see all those pearly whites, Christopher! You look like a fluffy bunny with all that scruff and those dimples.”

 

Except Peter making it his business.

 

It was like the wolf was asking to drop down on the floor clutching his crotch in agony.

 

——

 

“ _What is going on?!_ ”

 

Allison and Stiles blinked from where they were looking over possible honeymoon destinations—severely cramped by the fact their weird fathers wanted to stay in the States for some reason—to look at a confused and angry Scott. Frankly, he looked a bit constipated.

 

“What does it look like? We’re trying to plan a honeymoon, now shh. Hey Ally, what about Vegas?”

 

“No. Sure, lots of casinos, clubs and hotels, but otherwise a bit of a tourist trap.”

 

“Yea, I guess you’re right. So maybe—”

 

“ _Honeymoon?!_ ” They were once again rudely interrupted by Scott, whose voice broke just a little on the last syllable.

 

“Yes?” Surely the concept wasn’t that hard to grasp, even for Scott who was normally quite slow at following the love lives of people not him or his current lady love.

 

“I think what he means to ask is when you planned to inform him you two are getting married.” Derek’s voice was dry as a desert.

 

Allison and Stiles were slightly less confused.

 

“Oh…oh! No Scott, Stiles and I aren’t getting married. That’d be marrying my brother, for Christ’s sake. No, we’re planning our dads’ wedding.”

 

“ _Your fathers are dating?!_ ”

 

Even Derek’s eyebrows looked a bit surprised, though it was nothing next to Scott’s expressive kicked and confused puppy face.

 

“Ally,” Stiles started slowly, realizing the two wolves were a bit too surprised for it to be fake, “I think we never mentioned to their pack that dad and papa are getting married.”

 

“I think we never mentioned that they were dating either.” Allison added her two cents, causing them both to look sheepishly at each other for a moment.

 

Well, nothing to be done for that now, so they turned back to a gaping Scott and Derek’s slowly lifting eyebrows.

 

“Our dads are getting married in a couple of months, we’re planning the entire thing. Now do you mind? This honeymoon thing is proving to be a pain in the ass to plan.”

 

They didn’t wait for an answer, just turning back to the brochures and choosing to ignore the wolves.

 

“Do you think they’d consider Canada?”

 

“It’s not the States, but I know papa has a lodge there, so maybe. Dad wanted a big city in the States though.”

 

“Well, it’s not going to be L.A. or San Fran, that’s the easy way out.”

 

“I’m not saying it has to be _near_ here. Just maybe like New York or Washington D.C. or something like that.”

 

“Hmm, I know Dad has always wanted to see the Big Apple, I supposed we should check our options there next.”

 

Scott’s sputtering and Derek’s expressive eyebrows were being masterfully ignored.

 

——

 

“ _Malen’kiy monstr_ , come give your uncle a hug!”

 

Squealing in delight at hearing the heavily accented, rough voice coming from somewhere behind him, Stiles almost tripped over the rosebushes he had magically grown a couple of days ago in his rush to tackle the heavily tattooed man standing besides a slightly intimidated Chris.

 

“Uncle Ilya!” The force at which he threw himself into the arms of his uncle would have knocked over a less prepared man. As it was, thick muscled arms locked around Stiles and lifted him off the ground with ease, nearly succeeding in making him disappear into a bear hug.

 

“You have gained weight, _moy monstr._ Gran will be very happy to see this.”

 

“Yea,” Stiles beamed up at his favorite uncle—though don’t tell his other uncles—the moment his feet touched the ground again, “Peter’s making sure I get three meals a day.” Even if the Alpha did have to nearly force-feed him a couple of times. Not his best moments.

 

“I’ll make sure to give this Peter some of gran’s recipes, as a treat for you.”

 

“Gran’s Borscht?” Stiles made sure to employ his hopeful puppy dog eyes, knowing his uncle was fatally weak to them.

 

“ _Da da_ ,” apparently their effect had lessened during Ilya’s incarceration, as the man looked more amused than starstruck, “I will tell her to take that one with.”

 

At that, Noah felt the need to step in the conversation for a bit, clasping a hand on Ilya’s shoulder as he did so.

 

“Gran is coming for the wedding? Is it safe?”

 

Allison, Chris and Peter—dwellers of the forgotten corner—glanced at each other, wondering whether that meant that this woman was a part of the Russian criminal underworld as well.

 

_“Nyet,_ not safe completely, but she and Ivan do not want to miss your wedding. Not when you finally found a worthy second wife.”

 

“I resent that.” Chris muttered, being ignored except for a wink by Ilya. Allison just muttered a soft ‘mama’ under her breath and had to dodge out of the way of Chris attempting to smack her upside the head.

 

“Not that I want to interrupt your conversation,” Peter interrupted, “but may I ask whose grandmother you are talking about? It is—quite unclear at the moment.”

 

“Hm? Who is that, Noah?” Ilya asked instead of answering, having not previously deigned Peter worthy of even a single glance. Something the poor Hale obviously wasn’t used to.

 

“That’s Peter. He’s…Peter. We’re still figuring out a title, but he’s part of this little family.” If Peter still did things such as weep of joy, he might have had to pink away a little tear at that declaration.

 

Everyone kindly ignored how Peter’s posture seemed to straighten even as his shoulders relaxed a little at that, though Ilya thawed a little at that unconscious movement.

 

“And Peter,” Stiles turned to Peter with a small grin, “gran’s our gran. She just is. Technically speaking she’s my great-aunt, but considering my actual grandmother was not a kind woman, auntie Victoria became gran. Though…did you say gramps was coming as well, uncle? What about the KGB?”

 

_“Da,_ Ivan will come, no doubt about that. The KGB has no jurisdiction on American soil and an extradition order would take longer than the wedding lasts to arrange, so they can only watch.”

 

“And attempt to assassinate him.” Noah added in dryly.

 

_“Da,_ that’s true, but we have our own bodyguards. Couple of nieces and nephews that do not know you yet but wish to protect family.”

 

It seemed that Chris and Noah had been right. Their wedding might just end up in a bloodbath.

 

——

 

The first terrifying moment at their wedding happened when the few Argents that had been invited got along swimmingly with the numerous members of the extended family of the Stilinskis. There was a bit of tension between an ex-KGB member and some of his cousins, but a warning glare from Ivan told them to keep it away from the wedding.

 

Peter had gotten pulled aside by a terrifying, tall Russian-American lady about sixty five years old the moment she finished smothering Stiles and cooing over Noah’s _‘new_ wife’, ignoring Chris’ resigned sigh and his cousins’ giggles. Whenever Noah looked over at those two, he just had to look twice at the vicious haggling of family recipes that was going on—that no doubt gran was winning—and he would swear on Claudia’s grave that Peter had flashed his wolf eyes more than once.

 

The fact that gran was less than impressed told Noah enough about his family. Either that they knew at least something about the Supernatural, or that they were each dangerous enough on their own not to be afraid of the unknown. It was probably a mix of both, if he was honest with himself.

 

“I’m sorry sir,” Ally’s sickly sweet voice got his attention, and Noah turned slightly to where his son and his now step-daughter—and oh boy she was now legally his daughter, Chris was his _husband—were_ standing in front of a blank faced man in a suit, “but I’m going to have to see your invitation.”

 

The man slowly turned away from where he had been staring blatantly at an uninterested Ivan, and took almost a minute to pull an FBI badge out of his coat pocket to flash it at them.

 

Or he would have, had Stiles not ripped it out of his hands to examine it closer.

 

“Look up a Jason Dyson—what an unfortunate name, mr. Vacuum Cleaner—on the guest list, would you, Ally?”

 

With a shrug, Allison pulled up the guest list she and Stiles had co-written, knowing even before looking that they did not have Mr. Brand Name on the list. If your name wasn’t Eastern European or French, there was a 5% chance of you being on that list. Melissa McCall being 1% of that. The deputies present making up the other 4%.

 

“Looks like he isn’t. I’m going to have to ask you to leave, sir. This is a private wedding reception.”

 

Dyson didn’t look to be leaving. He only look unimpressed, even as he took back his badge and flashed it at them, a bit slowed this time.

 

“Yea, see, the thing is that this _private_ wedding thing? It’s being held on _private_ property. So unless you have a warrant—which I know for a fact it will take you several hours to procure if you don’t—you need to leave.”

 

“I will not.” It speaks! “Some of the people in this garden are wanted for questioning and extradition. It is my job to take them in as soon as I get an opportunity.”

 

“Did you read that off of a script? No, don’t answer that. You still don’t have a warrant, and considering there isn’t an arrest team busting down our expensive doors—yes, you would have to pay to replace those, just a fair warning—I am going to make the correct assumption that you do not have a warrant. So unless you want to be arrested for trespassing, please leave.”

 

The agent looked more than a little incredulous at Stiles, who was bouncing lightly on his heels with a beaming smile, seeming to be in disbelief that a _child_ was reading him the law.

 

The boy was correct, that was true, but still. He was not getting chased off by the kids of the newlyweds whose wedding he was crashing.

 

A pair of handcuffs was dangled in front of his face by a police officer in uniform who had appeared besides the kids, no sign of a grin or even a small smile on his serious face.

 

“Well? Stiles is right, you know that, agent. Either you leave on your own, or I’ll have to arrest you for trespassing. And considering our sheriff just got married, getting you processed might take until he’s back from his honeymoon.”

 

Faced with arrest due to the fact that his request for a warrant was not even being processed yet, the agent decided to do the smart thing and leave. Not noticing that a couple of KGB agents were sent out with less warnings about warrants and more threats about arrests for their illegal activities within the US.

 

Ivan was having a blast sticking up a giant middle finger by simply being openly present at a wedding.

 

The second terrifying moment happened when Allison was officially introduced to Ivan and she responded to his talks about his favorite weapons by informing him of her proficiency with the bow and arrow. They might have held an improvised target practice by shooting glasses out of the tree branches they had Stiles put them in.

 

That competition lasted all of two shots before gran Vic dragged Ivan away by his ear all while complimenting Allison on her accuracy and perfect handling of her bow, going as far as to pat Chris on the back for teaching his daughter well. Chris only flinched a tiny bit at the touch, being understandably terrified of the woman who had just hours before threatened to roast his nuts until they popped like kernels if he hurt ‘her sweet little son’, before enveloping him in a hug and calling him Noah’s lovely new wife from that point on.

 

The only thing that stopped Chris from being mildly insulted at being called Noah’s _wife_ was that every Russian wife that was present was terrifying. Well that, and the fact that Ilya made sure he knew they weren’t trying to insult him or show disrespect. Indeed, some of the extended family of the Stilinskis called him the new husband as well, using the exact same friendly tone of voice when they were using wife.

 

Goddamnit it, terrifying moment number three was the fact that he was getting used to being called Noah’s wife.

 

Peter was probably getting a kick out of this.

 

At least Stiles was still calling him papa, that had to count for something.

 

——

 

New York. Truly a wonderful place to have a honeymoon. There were a lot of places to visit, the hotel Stiles and Allison had booked for them in the middle of Manhattan was great, the married sex was fantastic, and…

 

…It would be even better if it stopped raining aliens.

 

“Are we cursed?”

 

Noah shrugged even as he passed Chris his sniper rifle.

 

“Stiles doesn’t think so, and he tested us.”

 

“He did? Huh. How are you as a sniper, dear?”

 

“Better with a handgun, but I do okay.”

 

“Just shoot at anything that is not the brightly clad group of clowns down there, and you should be fine.”

 

“Those are superheroes, darling, don’t let Stiles hear you call them clowns.”

 

“Dead superheroes if they don’t close that portal.”

 

_“Definitely_ don’t let Stiles hear you say _that.”_

**Author's Note:**

> Malen'kiy monstr = Little monster  
> Moy monstr = My monster
> 
> Any prompts/ideas in this universe (or just general Teen Wolf or Marvel) are always welcome! Might not get around to them quickly, but I need to start pushing myself to write more again, so send them my way and I'll see what I can do!


End file.
